The Adventures of Kathlyn eBook

Silence. A low roar from the inner shrine told
her that for the present she was safe. To-morrow
she must fly, whither did not matter. Toward
four o’clock she fell into a doze and was finally
awakened by the sound of voices raised in anger.

Poor sheep! They had discovered the shattered
idol. It did not matter at all that the return
of their ancient goddess was to bring back prosperity.
She had broken their favorite idol. Damnation
would come in a devil’s wind that night.

The holy man who had missed the chance of claiming
the miraculous appearance of Kathlyn as a work of
his own now saw an opportunity to rehabilitate himself
in the eyes of those who had made his holiness a comfortable
existence. With a piece of the idol in his hand,
he roused Kathlyn and shook the clay before her face,
jabbering violently. Kathlyn understood readily
enough. She had unwittingly committed a sacrilege.

The natives gathered about and menaced her.
Kathlyn rose, standing in the sarcophagus, and extended
her hands for silence. She was frightened, but
it would never do to let them see it. What Hindustani
she knew would in this case be of no manner of use.
But we human beings can, by facial expression and
gesture, make known our messages with understandable
clearness. From her gestures, then, the holy
men gathered that she could recreate the god.
She pointed toward the sun and counted on her fingers.

The premier holy man, satisfied that he understood
Kathlyn’s gestures, turned to the justly angered
villagers and explained that with his aid their priestess
would, in five suns, recreate Vishnu in all his beauty.
Instantly the villagers prostrated themselves.

“Poor things!” murmured Kathlyn.

The holy men sent the natives away, for it was not
meet that they should witness magic in the making.
They then squatted in the clay court and curiously
waited for her to begin. There was a well in
the inner shrine. To this she went with caution.
The lion was evidently foraging in the jungle.
Kathlyn filled the copper vessel with water and returned.
Next, she gathered up what pieces of the idol she
could find and pieced them together. Here was
her model. She then approached one of the fakirs
and signified that she had need of his knife.
He demurred at first, but at length consented to part
with it. She dug up a square piece of clay.
In fine, she felt more like the Kathlyn of old than
she had since completing the leopard in her outdoor
studio. It occupied her thoughts, at least part
of them, for she realized that mayhap her life depended
upon her skill in reproducing the hideous idol.

As the two old hypocrites saw the clay take form and
shape and the mocking face gradually appear, they
were assured that Kathlyn was indeed the ancient priestess;
and deep down in their souls they experienced something
of the awe they had often inspired in the poor trusting
ryot.